As you get older, the need to maintain friendships dwindles. The want may never fade, but the dogged pursuit of unnecessary bros and subsequent compromise...it grows less urgent with time and maturity (hopefully). When a bond does last, however, it is a beautiful, awesome, life affirming thing. I had the privilege of spending time with two very special friends this past weekend (sparking a few new friendships and reviving a few old ones in the process). I was a bridesmaid in the wedding of one, and the house guest (for the wedding trip) of another. Couldn't have had one without the other. I'm thankful and delighted to witness the people they've become, for at times it seemed like we'd never mix up again.
Lifestyle is the king pin in relationships. Quitting a certain drug or getting married or deciding to be a lion tamer can either strengthen or snap a bond in twain. My particular friendship killer was moving to California to pursue my life goals and get the eff out of the blizzardry. It's a word. Before I left the first time, I knew I had a handful of friends that cared about me and my life and all that jazz. By the time I came back with my first kiddo in tow, that number was down significantly but I was knee deep in being a young, first time mom, so I didn't really notice. Kids are the number one killer of inane friendships, by the way, rightfully so. Then I filled in the gaps while I was back in town, re-connecting with the best of them and drinking my anxieties away. Drinking even a hangnail away, really.
Then I rallied and moved back to Cali, and those bonds that I cemented the three years I was back, took a hit. I suppose I played yo-yo with emotions, quite unintentionally. The visits I had back since to the ol' hometown have always been split between familial obligations and a want to keep those few lasting connections. It was often too much to do and too many to see for it to be satisfying, though. Then I joined Facebook-or the modern day town crier/gossip that doubles as your personal publicist who you check in with a minimum of 38 times a day-and it became both easier and harder to stay connected. I watched as the relationships I thought I had strained a bit under the contrast of closeness. I started not wanting to comment on photos or post my own, simply because, what's the point? We are different people day to day so how can you rely on any friendship, really?
So then the wedding trip came together. I was a bit nervous to be seeing long lost faces, as I was nervous to be staying out of town without my family by my side. Like NO family. Friend only, this time around. Plus I'd be staying with one friend and partaking in festivities with the other. The old twenty-something me would have blown a gasket at that loyalty clustercuss (ten points for that movie reference if you get it right). But instead of stressing (as the old me would have) I just went with it. I am so delighted that I did so, all weekend.
As I went through the events that surround both a three day off stint and a wedding, I realized some wonderful things. I realized that those who truly know you, will rise to meet your needs. You won't have to ask, they'll do you a solid every time. I realized that the closest person to you may still learn something new, something that you couldn't tell anyone before. Timing takes a big part in what is said. I learned that no matter how well you plan, you have to give yourself over to the moment, and if you picked your people right, you'll have a blast every time. The small stuff won't be a big deal, when the big stuff is so well preserved. I learned that even if you've gained a few pounds or lost a few hairs, the core you that is you, is shining on brilliantly, no matter what. And if you pick your people well, they love you for that shining brilliance alone.
I knew all of this before, but to realize it spontaneously again, made the whole experience all the more magical. Not that the raucous bar convos, the late night heart to hearts, the laughter, the MANY MANY drinks, the gorgeous rainbow, the sporadic silliness, the tearful tenderness, the relaxed elegance, the humble talent, the warm memories (past and presently made), the copious witty exchanges and above all the unconditional love didn't contribute...it did.
How thankful I am that finally, life is no longer a bunch of ingredients clobbering the next for palatable recognition, but rather every easy component mixing deliciously. To have those around to help in whatever way the are able make that happen for you, is a true joy.
I know I couldn't possible re-cap to a satisfying degree, so I won't try. The regurgitation is never as good as the meal itself, if you catch my breeze. Something sacred. I did have a wonderful time, dashed lightly with near panic attack inducing hangovers, but no matter. It was well worth it, all of it coming out in the wash of life's awesomeness. I looked into the eyes of my best friend, two times over that weekend, each pair reflecting a particular strand of myself, yet the best possible sum of it's whole. It's a good feeling, one I recall in the moments since, in their absence.
To my ladies, Jiffy and the Meerkat, I love thee always. And to my other lovelies: Max, Laruelini, the Chihuahua, Head, T-Dub, Adamantium, Mandita, Eric B, Effin' Mahoney, Molly J and the rest who I bonded with randomly...It was a pleasure and I can't wait to pick up where we left off.
Friday, July 12, 2013
Friday, March 15, 2013
The NSSDMD: Shitty Kids Need Love Too
The neighborhood kids we were once excited to befriend, are a lot more complicated to be friends with, turns out. Logan is trapped in the frantic middle, as this particular playground is also her home turf. We witness multiple unsavory acts and hear hellacious phrases from this Viking brood roaming the grounds. Separately, they're alright. They can focus past cuss words and physical lashings enough to converse on their favorite super heroes, or how school was that day. Lump them together, however and it's a disparaging, lowbrow extravaganza.
When Logan has been allowed to join, she turns into one of them herself. Upon return, Maybel catches grief simply for being younger and unable to tell her to back off. Us adults catch grief for expecting more of her and we have residual fights to that end. As yucky as those consequences are, I can't help but feel for the wild bunch outside, even as they disappoint and infuriate. I know they don't have anyone counteracting all the damage they sustain out there or they wouldn't be in this mess. We've tried to bridge the gap when we can-a pizza party here, a listening ear and positive word there-but we shan't help them over our own, especially when Logan gets ganged up on and hurt inevitably. Bullying is the new black (either giving or receiving), for so many kids.
We waffled on letting her outside to play for the first few months. We instructed her on how to avoid the undesirables while still accommodating her need to mix it up with her peers. Lordy knows she ain't innocent herself at times, but no one deserves to be harassed or made fun of en masse. After many trials and a few more errors, we concluded that no-mans land isn't worth it, and instead we will be accompanying her to the park, for social and physical exertion.
Only problem is, now she has to endure the kids carrying on without her, within ear/eye shot.For a social kid like her, it's torturous. She has to be the even odder man out, and the kids that once walked to school with us or enjoyed a juice box with on occasion, are now not so included. The stress we try to alleviate still rests on everyones' shoulders in a new way.
My way has always been to go solo if there's no one on the same page as me, while Logan prefers to chase down someone to play with regardless of conflict. It's been a challenge to meet in the middle. Now that she's older than a toddler, whatever bad influence she's exposed to rubs off instantly, out of sheer survival. How difficult it is, to resonate love and kindness and understanding, while she watches her peers shove the opposite at her constantly. And what a kerfuffle it is for those meanie-heads hacking it in society. Now and later.
Like Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., I believe that you can only replace negative with positive. It's Law of Attraction. I can't allow them to treat Logan with such disregard, but be so disgusted that I turn into an adult version of that. I can't single out Logan and stress her out incessantly over this stuff. She's almost eight (not twenty-eight), and has plenty time to right the wrongs within herself, and it's up to her anyway. More often she needs a hug and some quality time, not a lecture. I know if we choose kindness in the face of ugliness, we'll all be better for it no matter what the circumstances are.
Focus on yourself (which is the only element you really can control), keep your head up and ignore the others sipping on Haterade and slingin' mud. Lead by example and stay positive, even as you avoid it all together. I'll strive to keep her as fulfilled as possible without them in her sphere, until she finds a better fitting flock.
Kids getting the shit end of the stick, whether it's Logan assimilating or the neighbor kids demonstrating, the consequences of turd burger behaviour, the crap stress it puts on others and the difficult interpersonal bullshit we all have to wade through as humans, will always be there in some form. I'm thankful we have the option to flush it all away and start fresh, every day.
When Logan has been allowed to join, she turns into one of them herself. Upon return, Maybel catches grief simply for being younger and unable to tell her to back off. Us adults catch grief for expecting more of her and we have residual fights to that end. As yucky as those consequences are, I can't help but feel for the wild bunch outside, even as they disappoint and infuriate. I know they don't have anyone counteracting all the damage they sustain out there or they wouldn't be in this mess. We've tried to bridge the gap when we can-a pizza party here, a listening ear and positive word there-but we shan't help them over our own, especially when Logan gets ganged up on and hurt inevitably. Bullying is the new black (either giving or receiving), for so many kids.
We waffled on letting her outside to play for the first few months. We instructed her on how to avoid the undesirables while still accommodating her need to mix it up with her peers. Lordy knows she ain't innocent herself at times, but no one deserves to be harassed or made fun of en masse. After many trials and a few more errors, we concluded that no-mans land isn't worth it, and instead we will be accompanying her to the park, for social and physical exertion.
Only problem is, now she has to endure the kids carrying on without her, within ear/eye shot.For a social kid like her, it's torturous. She has to be the even odder man out, and the kids that once walked to school with us or enjoyed a juice box with on occasion, are now not so included. The stress we try to alleviate still rests on everyones' shoulders in a new way.
My way has always been to go solo if there's no one on the same page as me, while Logan prefers to chase down someone to play with regardless of conflict. It's been a challenge to meet in the middle. Now that she's older than a toddler, whatever bad influence she's exposed to rubs off instantly, out of sheer survival. How difficult it is, to resonate love and kindness and understanding, while she watches her peers shove the opposite at her constantly. And what a kerfuffle it is for those meanie-heads hacking it in society. Now and later.
Like Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., I believe that you can only replace negative with positive. It's Law of Attraction. I can't allow them to treat Logan with such disregard, but be so disgusted that I turn into an adult version of that. I can't single out Logan and stress her out incessantly over this stuff. She's almost eight (not twenty-eight), and has plenty time to right the wrongs within herself, and it's up to her anyway. More often she needs a hug and some quality time, not a lecture. I know if we choose kindness in the face of ugliness, we'll all be better for it no matter what the circumstances are.
Focus on yourself (which is the only element you really can control), keep your head up and ignore the others sipping on Haterade and slingin' mud. Lead by example and stay positive, even as you avoid it all together. I'll strive to keep her as fulfilled as possible without them in her sphere, until she finds a better fitting flock.
Kids getting the shit end of the stick, whether it's Logan assimilating or the neighbor kids demonstrating, the consequences of turd burger behaviour, the crap stress it puts on others and the difficult interpersonal bullshit we all have to wade through as humans, will always be there in some form. I'm thankful we have the option to flush it all away and start fresh, every day.
Friday, February 8, 2013
The Matriarch Mess
Your parents are the most important relationship you have, I'd say. From the ground up, the way you relate to them and vice versa directs every other avenue you take in your life. Even the worst of the worst examples of the parental bond have a way of contrasting life so that either, you never pass on any endured unsavory-ness, or you learn enough by it to overcome and be better than they had been.
At times, familiarity breeds contempt, however. It seems that if you're a daughter, no one gets under your skin like your mom, and same for father and son. A same sex parent can be a handful, and I know for a fact they feel the same about us. I have two daughters of my own.
My mother came to stay with me and the fledgling fam over the holidays, a step in the process of moving here permanently. It both chagrins and delights me, the idea was hatched out of a mutual agreement on us being under the same roof for a myriad of reasons. It sounded great in theory, as most theories do. If I didn't sport the Mama Card already, the transition and adjustments might not have been so bumpy as they've frequently been. But I do and they have, all the while, life churning on around us, being effected by our fall out. Shades of how it was in my childhood, cascading back.
I love my mom. I respect her and I appreciate who she is, look up to her in many ways. In the most flattering, emulating the groundwork she laid with me, for my own kiddos. I always did, even when our relationship was nothing to be proud of. So why is it that I mentally flip her off so often, cringe at her insistent instruction? Has my own daughter started doing the same to me, at the tender age of seven? How far off is my eight month old daughter on that? Crap on a cracker, I say. Doesn't seem right or fair. Just flat out contradictory to the very nurturing nature that women posses.
You despise most in others that which you despise in yourself, and that saying makes the most sense when I reflect on shouting matches we have. My mom is an intelligent, stubborn, hard working, persevering lady. She expects the best of people, or at very least, ownership of the worst. I am not far off in those respects, she instilled all of her four children with those traits, painstakingly so at times. They have served us well for the most part, so it's not for naught. I can't speak for my sibs, but in my case, she bristles at me most for being the very way she is to me, back at her. Give it a second, it make sense.
It's my choice to take offense to the manner in which she relates to me, I've been privy to her personality long enough to let it roll of my shoulders, or remember that she means all of it with the best intent. To humor her, as she's earned it.
I understand where she's coming from, and she me. We both agree on most subjects enough to make a go of it, but the select issues we do NOT agree on kind of rip our bond a new one. She's the grandma of my kids, and her job is to spoil them and send them back to me to deal with the less appealing aspects of mothering. That's the perks of having grand kids, I thought. Her stance on that is different, however. She's a teacher and therefor lives to instruct no matter what. It just comes out of her, I notice, even when it violates the treaty du jour. I've asked for boundaries to be honored, and the same of hers in turn. But every few days, we have a go-round that results in sullen, iceberg existences from her or I, or both. We have to fix that, I'm tired of the place where I rest my head also being the place I bang it on the wall repeatedly. In order to do so, I have to ask questions and embrace the answers, no matter what they are.
In all honesty, I do wish that she was still in charge at times. That I was just a cog in the machine, not the systems operator. That I could magically regain my freedom. Party, sleep in and not have to give a rats' ass about anything. Maybe her being in close proximity, it's a constant subconscious reminder of that. With my mom now in my California life, the lines of difference between what I had then and what I have now, are all the more visible. The same for her then. Perhaps seeing me with my little ones, starting out in a new chapter of life at the age I'm at, reminds her that shes' in the latter chapters, even if this endeavor is a new exciting phase itself. And that's a lonely place to be. So it's more familiar/easier to charge ahead than trot alongside. Or maybe we're just both stubborn, used to being in the drivers seat and secretly like a good high stakes debate (as usual, I bet both). What silly creatures us women are, though equally complex and amazing.
To meet in the middle, we have to keep trying to understand each others perspective and be patient. God help us all, the patience. I need to organize my own thoughts and emotions and remember who I am and what's happening in this moment. Who I am, in this moment. Even my lovely mom, who I cherish in her own respect, shan't effect that if I'm for real. I think that's how moms still teach us, into our adult years. I hope to remember all of this in the future, if Logan/Maybel and I are ever in a similar predicament.
Unless there's no reason to, we'll keep trying to allow it to work. Family is the best of reasons to do so, even as they make you want to poke your eyes out with blunt spoons. Just have to roll up our sleeves and clean up whatever spills out.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
The NSSDMD: (Not So Single Double Mama Drama) Part One
I have been away, and I'm truly sorry to leave those hanging that follow this journalesque blog o'mine. But as with a journal, sometimes life supersedes the written word for a time, only to fuel it so completely later. Please read on for a full explanation and catching up of what's been going down. I shan't be away again for so very long.
When I check out of lifes' motel, there will be so many shinning, glittery memories of my time here that I'll gratefully look back upon. My favorite movies and books. Enjoying all the boisterous family holidays as a kid, feeling safe, happy and loved. Sewing wild oats with wild abandon, in places I'd always dreamed of being and at long last, made it to. Looking in the mirror and feeling delighted at what I see staring back. Hours spent with the people that celebrate who I am the most, doing things unique to only us. And most glittery to date, starting a family of my own. My life has morphed and grown to allow for their respective journeys to take shape, and it's as rewarding as it is grueling at times, not that it's a news flash to say so. The past few months I've been away we've multiplied from three to four, moved to a new city, and started a new chapter.
My enigmatic little genius, my sassy spitfire with a heart of gold named Logan, who so completely changed my scope of life seven years ago (and the soul reason for the SMD), started out a painful secret of mine. I've touched on this subject a few times, but never with this degree of explanation. I didn't feel I could do it all justice, or I just wanted the forthcoming novel to do big numbers, I 'spose. But it's a necessary, timely time to let you all in on it.
No one knew concretely (a few family members suspected) of Logan until she was already here, after I gave birth to her myself, all by myself. I kept it hidden from everyone I knew. Yeah, I know, misguided teenagers in preachy after school specials do that sort of thing, not competent 23 year old aspiring actors. Secret, solo and in the passenger seat of a car isn't how women envision their first child bearing experience. Especially when they didn't want one to begin with, didn't fathom it ever happening. My distant thinking at the time was that motherhood would trample everything I'd carved out for my life up to that point. I was an island of my own independent functioning, a career oriented, self-sufficient party girl that no one really understood, but who many thought they knew well enough. Not having anyone to care about or for, besides me, myself, and I. My plan was to leave her at a fire station for someone who really wanted a kid, could truly take care of her. Then she came out and I let myself fall in love, and couldn't drop her anywhere but into my own life. Needless to say the ripples of how Logan was born touched everyone around us. Anyone regaled with the tale was/is shocked or humbled or confused (or all three) as to why I could/would do anything so "dangerous" or "difficult", or truly astonished that I had the wherewithal to see it through with no trauma or death.
Truth be told, I was more freaked out by the thought of others interfering than by any other facet of what was happening. No stranger was going to shout "BREATHE!" at me, if you catch my breeze. I know how to do that, thanks, and I would rather do it at my own behest. Most women would have gotten prenatal care, dealt with the "facts", let everyone know what was happening way before. Celebrated it with cutesy decorations, even. I'm not most women though, don't do things the "normal" way, and these two experiences only cemented that about me.
When it was just Logan and I for that first five years, it felt like who I presumed I was and who I truly wanted to be finally blended and multiplied my person hood, even as it kicked my ass into shape. To hell with all the others. I had found a being that loved me for me, unconditionally, one who I would see concrete proof of daily time and energy and emotion spent. I was content and determined to shift and make my goals fit around this little lump of love. So I did, and it was good.
Cut to October of almost two years ago, when we met Darrick. He was a friend of a friend, and sparks didn't exactly fly when we first met. He seemed like good bro material, but I wasn't looking for any sort of romance. So, naturally, the ivory white glove of relationship slapped my cheek soundly. It was a quick, challenging, comfortable ride to coupledom from there. We went from acquaintances, to friends, to roommates with benefits, to being with each other everyday. We had started a life together. All within a couple weeks.
We were/are friends first, and that always leads to something lasting, even when it's resisted most for various external reasons. He's a lone wolf like myself, so we had some adjustments within ourselves to contend with (but like attracts like, so here we are). Logz was none too pleased to have our dynamic changed so soundly either, needless to say. I was all she'd ever known and now there was someone else taking my time and attention. But they are a lot alike ironically, and after seeing him as a friend first and then (stubbornly, reluctantly), a father figure, she finally accepted that we were now three. It was a breakthrough, it was.
Then around September of last year, I crash landed back in that weird, distant place I had only known once before. That lonely, protective, place. I watched from a distance as all the happy, nagging thoughts of giving Logan a sibling, all the anxieties of having another lump of love added to the mix too soon, as the anxieties of financial constraints had a strangle hold on us, and most of all, dealing with what everyone around me would have to say about it all...finally, I watched as it all culminated on Mothers' Day of this year, when Maybel Dean Alexander was born. She was 8lbs 1oz of round, roley, Buddha baby from the moment she debuted. Quiet and observant and lovely. This time I was in the bathroom, not my car, so upgrade there at least. Just like her sister before, she debuted to a couple suspecting family members, but mostly clueless onslaughts of those who know us. They all were shocked and delighted, confused but content that we were both healthy and happy. Logan loves her baby sis, despite the initial resentful fury that comes with any sibling dynamic, and the near out of the blue big sister-hood.
I don't suppose I can explain my position to any satisfying degree, but I'm a writer so I'll take a stab at it. Some could argue that I betrayed many people out of the "pregnancy experience" they would have had through me, that I cheated Maybel out of prenatal care in every respect, that I cheated myself out of that...and in that way I feel a millimeter of remorse. But that's just it; if it weren't for anyone else involved, I would have done it just the way I did. She came out as healthy as a little ox (or bull, she is a Taurus..and her name is Maybel) so at the end of the day, no harm no foul. Darrick took the biggest hit being a proud papa that couldn't really be, but that's a big reason why we work. He trusted me to do what I had to, and he's just thankful to have such a wonderful baby girl.
Pregnancy does funny things to women, just as war does funny things to men. Hormones and emotions thereof, the prospect of shoving your personal autonomy farther away (just as you got it back to some degree if you have more than one), considering all the ramifications of every choice you will or won't make on your baby and everyone else involved...it can be one of the loneliest, scariest times in a womans' life. Even if throngs of people support them through it, it's still personal and private and life altering.
For some reason, my response to all that is to go into "protection mode" as a nurse in the hospital called it (we went both times after they were born, to get checked out). Half of me denies it's happening, the other half will be damned to let anyone mess with me or the alien object that grows steadily that I must protect. A part of me just doesn't want anyone to see me go through all the gory details if I can spare them. As crazy as it sounds. I didn't connect to either girls until I looked into their eyes for the first time, heard their cry, kissed their little chubby cheeks. I knew if I'd gone the traditional route things would have been worse for me, and in effect, them.
This I will say, however, for what it's worth and as for how it may apply to mine or any particular life situation of yours:
1) Babies are resilient, miraculous creatures. They follow mamas' lead, so if you're OK with your choices, they will be too.
2) Panic never helps any situation, stay calm and stay in the moment and stay strong. It will work itself out, I'm living proof of that.
3) If you trust yourself enough to know what's best for yourself, then committing to it all the way-even when that means choosing something that's wrong to someone else-won't bring about catastrophe, it will bring change for the better. With all due respect to the peanut gallery, you have to ignore them. Either they'll understand or they'll exit your life, and you'll be happy in that life. It's the only one you have, afterall.
So Maybel is here now, no matter what it took, with all her magic and beauty and wrecking ball effect life as we knew it, only to re-build it stronger. She fits so well, and we love her completely. Amidst all the Maybel drama, we were getting ducks in rows to move to San Diego, the other big change in our lives lately....standby for Part Two.
When I check out of lifes' motel, there will be so many shinning, glittery memories of my time here that I'll gratefully look back upon. My favorite movies and books. Enjoying all the boisterous family holidays as a kid, feeling safe, happy and loved. Sewing wild oats with wild abandon, in places I'd always dreamed of being and at long last, made it to. Looking in the mirror and feeling delighted at what I see staring back. Hours spent with the people that celebrate who I am the most, doing things unique to only us. And most glittery to date, starting a family of my own. My life has morphed and grown to allow for their respective journeys to take shape, and it's as rewarding as it is grueling at times, not that it's a news flash to say so. The past few months I've been away we've multiplied from three to four, moved to a new city, and started a new chapter.
My enigmatic little genius, my sassy spitfire with a heart of gold named Logan, who so completely changed my scope of life seven years ago (and the soul reason for the SMD), started out a painful secret of mine. I've touched on this subject a few times, but never with this degree of explanation. I didn't feel I could do it all justice, or I just wanted the forthcoming novel to do big numbers, I 'spose. But it's a necessary, timely time to let you all in on it.
No one knew concretely (a few family members suspected) of Logan until she was already here, after I gave birth to her myself, all by myself. I kept it hidden from everyone I knew. Yeah, I know, misguided teenagers in preachy after school specials do that sort of thing, not competent 23 year old aspiring actors. Secret, solo and in the passenger seat of a car isn't how women envision their first child bearing experience. Especially when they didn't want one to begin with, didn't fathom it ever happening. My distant thinking at the time was that motherhood would trample everything I'd carved out for my life up to that point. I was an island of my own independent functioning, a career oriented, self-sufficient party girl that no one really understood, but who many thought they knew well enough. Not having anyone to care about or for, besides me, myself, and I. My plan was to leave her at a fire station for someone who really wanted a kid, could truly take care of her. Then she came out and I let myself fall in love, and couldn't drop her anywhere but into my own life. Needless to say the ripples of how Logan was born touched everyone around us. Anyone regaled with the tale was/is shocked or humbled or confused (or all three) as to why I could/would do anything so "dangerous" or "difficult", or truly astonished that I had the wherewithal to see it through with no trauma or death.
Truth be told, I was more freaked out by the thought of others interfering than by any other facet of what was happening. No stranger was going to shout "BREATHE!" at me, if you catch my breeze. I know how to do that, thanks, and I would rather do it at my own behest. Most women would have gotten prenatal care, dealt with the "facts", let everyone know what was happening way before. Celebrated it with cutesy decorations, even. I'm not most women though, don't do things the "normal" way, and these two experiences only cemented that about me.
When it was just Logan and I for that first five years, it felt like who I presumed I was and who I truly wanted to be finally blended and multiplied my person hood, even as it kicked my ass into shape. To hell with all the others. I had found a being that loved me for me, unconditionally, one who I would see concrete proof of daily time and energy and emotion spent. I was content and determined to shift and make my goals fit around this little lump of love. So I did, and it was good.
Cut to October of almost two years ago, when we met Darrick. He was a friend of a friend, and sparks didn't exactly fly when we first met. He seemed like good bro material, but I wasn't looking for any sort of romance. So, naturally, the ivory white glove of relationship slapped my cheek soundly. It was a quick, challenging, comfortable ride to coupledom from there. We went from acquaintances, to friends, to roommates with benefits, to being with each other everyday. We had started a life together. All within a couple weeks.
We were/are friends first, and that always leads to something lasting, even when it's resisted most for various external reasons. He's a lone wolf like myself, so we had some adjustments within ourselves to contend with (but like attracts like, so here we are). Logz was none too pleased to have our dynamic changed so soundly either, needless to say. I was all she'd ever known and now there was someone else taking my time and attention. But they are a lot alike ironically, and after seeing him as a friend first and then (stubbornly, reluctantly), a father figure, she finally accepted that we were now three. It was a breakthrough, it was.
Then around September of last year, I crash landed back in that weird, distant place I had only known once before. That lonely, protective, place. I watched from a distance as all the happy, nagging thoughts of giving Logan a sibling, all the anxieties of having another lump of love added to the mix too soon, as the anxieties of financial constraints had a strangle hold on us, and most of all, dealing with what everyone around me would have to say about it all...finally, I watched as it all culminated on Mothers' Day of this year, when Maybel Dean Alexander was born. She was 8lbs 1oz of round, roley, Buddha baby from the moment she debuted. Quiet and observant and lovely. This time I was in the bathroom, not my car, so upgrade there at least. Just like her sister before, she debuted to a couple suspecting family members, but mostly clueless onslaughts of those who know us. They all were shocked and delighted, confused but content that we were both healthy and happy. Logan loves her baby sis, despite the initial resentful fury that comes with any sibling dynamic, and the near out of the blue big sister-hood.
I don't suppose I can explain my position to any satisfying degree, but I'm a writer so I'll take a stab at it. Some could argue that I betrayed many people out of the "pregnancy experience" they would have had through me, that I cheated Maybel out of prenatal care in every respect, that I cheated myself out of that...and in that way I feel a millimeter of remorse. But that's just it; if it weren't for anyone else involved, I would have done it just the way I did. She came out as healthy as a little ox (or bull, she is a Taurus..and her name is Maybel) so at the end of the day, no harm no foul. Darrick took the biggest hit being a proud papa that couldn't really be, but that's a big reason why we work. He trusted me to do what I had to, and he's just thankful to have such a wonderful baby girl.
Pregnancy does funny things to women, just as war does funny things to men. Hormones and emotions thereof, the prospect of shoving your personal autonomy farther away (just as you got it back to some degree if you have more than one), considering all the ramifications of every choice you will or won't make on your baby and everyone else involved...it can be one of the loneliest, scariest times in a womans' life. Even if throngs of people support them through it, it's still personal and private and life altering.
For some reason, my response to all that is to go into "protection mode" as a nurse in the hospital called it (we went both times after they were born, to get checked out). Half of me denies it's happening, the other half will be damned to let anyone mess with me or the alien object that grows steadily that I must protect. A part of me just doesn't want anyone to see me go through all the gory details if I can spare them. As crazy as it sounds. I didn't connect to either girls until I looked into their eyes for the first time, heard their cry, kissed their little chubby cheeks. I knew if I'd gone the traditional route things would have been worse for me, and in effect, them.
This I will say, however, for what it's worth and as for how it may apply to mine or any particular life situation of yours:
1) Babies are resilient, miraculous creatures. They follow mamas' lead, so if you're OK with your choices, they will be too.
2) Panic never helps any situation, stay calm and stay in the moment and stay strong. It will work itself out, I'm living proof of that.
3) If you trust yourself enough to know what's best for yourself, then committing to it all the way-even when that means choosing something that's wrong to someone else-won't bring about catastrophe, it will bring change for the better. With all due respect to the peanut gallery, you have to ignore them. Either they'll understand or they'll exit your life, and you'll be happy in that life. It's the only one you have, afterall.
So Maybel is here now, no matter what it took, with all her magic and beauty and wrecking ball effect life as we knew it, only to re-build it stronger. She fits so well, and we love her completely. Amidst all the Maybel drama, we were getting ducks in rows to move to San Diego, the other big change in our lives lately....standby for Part Two.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
The SMD: Double Dutch
The most indicative sign of the times we live in, are those noticed when you spend time with a group of modern youngsters. This isn't a news flash or an unexplored theme here at the SMD, but it continues to boggle my mind all the time, sending me scrambling for a solution to it's residual effects. Effects that both Logan and I, daily, rebel against by nature.
We have always delighted in her respective stages, enjoying that age as much as possible without letting loose all her "big girl" strides (it's harder than it sounds at times, but completely worth it) and until she started school, it wasn't a blip on the radar too often. The blips were fewer and farther between, at least.
She's spent the majority of her time around older people as opposed to other children, but an only child has that cross to bear, and it's a good thing more often than not. She's always held accountable for things she knows better of, in the best and worst. This school year has been a bitter pill socially though, and it has everything to do with her defense mechanisms and the influences she's feeling torn by.
How tragic it is to witness the attitude, sophistication and morals she's immersed in resemble that of Sweet Valley High rather than Sesame Street. She has to jarringly bounce between the two worlds: the safety zone of accepting home life and the ongoing teen-like drama of the 1st grade (there's something really wrong with that last part), just to survive. So very foreign, this concept, at such a young age.
Yesterday she was recognized at an awards ceremony, by her teacher and principal for a whopping reading level escalation this trimester, and for perfect attendance. She is now a level above where they hope the students in her grade to be at the end of the year, with a few months to spare. She jumped ten levels, the little dickens. I'm beyond proud of her for accomplishing that at all, let alone under these emotional circumstances, and I told her so. They need to hear that stuff as often as possible, and so many don't. This feat was accomplished by the harnessing her frustratingly/ brilliantly selective focus and fortitude (and my dogged insistence she apply herself, but that's my job and the whole point of me being at home with her) despite any fatigue she comes home drenched in.
The same skill set that she possesses to achieve such accolades is the very one that causes her to stumble in the social world, and I noticed it yesterday. There she stood, getting an impressive award, and after all was said and done and we came up to her to congratulate, a group of her friends stood by with thinly veiled contempt for her. Or maybe it was AT her. It was hard to witness proof that originals aren't really encouraged completely, when there are so many types of necessary conformity at this age. It's a hard concept to grasp at any point in life, hard to be different when sameness is affluent and easier.
It's not the kids' fault, either. Alot of her peers/older kids she's exposed to on the bus, haven't had the privilege of a parent/care giver around to cultivate that in them, good bad or indifferent. No one's fault, but no ones' immediate duty either, when providing food and clothing and a roof over their heads trumps all other finer points. No judgement, as we all do what we have to do (and these are tyring times that keep getting trying-er), but there's still collateral damage to deal with, everyday for everyone involved. Our family deals with the converse, and neither is a pic-nic, I know that. Parenting is just so impossible sometimes, we all deserve medals of honor just for any positive result or semblance of balance we can achieve. I mean that.
On this hyper speed maturity crash course, all of them are trying their best to assert/be themselves, while blending in effectively. Society is a sticky wicket, it really is. Stand out and strive for success they're told, but get nailed for doing so by those that you most want to be stoked for you, your friends/peers. In my experiences growing up, I was confronted with these issues much farther down the pike (like, Jr. high farther), and I'm flat-out pissed that Logan has to go through this while she's just getting the hang of this school thing. But such is their quickened journey. She/they are just as screwed as we are as parents-damned if they do, damned if they don't, and damned if they can fix it consistently, half the time for one reason or another. That's important to remember, as we watch them mutate from what we know to what they choose to be. Even if we don't relate to it as much as we once did, we're growing and learning as they are.
This school year is almost over, and I'm as relieved as Logan is. Perhaps a smidgen more. Hopefully this next go-round will be more grounded, more even, more fun for her. I know my little one can do whatever she wants in her life, school or otherwise, like everyone can, and it's pointless to waste your gifts just to blend in. That much she's learned. I've passed on the best tools I myself employ, and tried my hardest to inspire kindness to herself and others, even when it's the hardest road to take. That's all we can do, really. If only I could grab her hand and transport her to the future for a few moments, where she'll see that all her attributes that caused her grief growing up, allow her to succeed in her adult life...that would be helpful quantum leap. Until such is possible, the jumps we sustain will be to keep standing. And that's good enough, when we're still learning the ropes.
We have always delighted in her respective stages, enjoying that age as much as possible without letting loose all her "big girl" strides (it's harder than it sounds at times, but completely worth it) and until she started school, it wasn't a blip on the radar too often. The blips were fewer and farther between, at least.
She's spent the majority of her time around older people as opposed to other children, but an only child has that cross to bear, and it's a good thing more often than not. She's always held accountable for things she knows better of, in the best and worst. This school year has been a bitter pill socially though, and it has everything to do with her defense mechanisms and the influences she's feeling torn by.
How tragic it is to witness the attitude, sophistication and morals she's immersed in resemble that of Sweet Valley High rather than Sesame Street. She has to jarringly bounce between the two worlds: the safety zone of accepting home life and the ongoing teen-like drama of the 1st grade (there's something really wrong with that last part), just to survive. So very foreign, this concept, at such a young age.
Yesterday she was recognized at an awards ceremony, by her teacher and principal for a whopping reading level escalation this trimester, and for perfect attendance. She is now a level above where they hope the students in her grade to be at the end of the year, with a few months to spare. She jumped ten levels, the little dickens. I'm beyond proud of her for accomplishing that at all, let alone under these emotional circumstances, and I told her so. They need to hear that stuff as often as possible, and so many don't. This feat was accomplished by the harnessing her frustratingly/ brilliantly selective focus and fortitude (and my dogged insistence she apply herself, but that's my job and the whole point of me being at home with her) despite any fatigue she comes home drenched in.
The same skill set that she possesses to achieve such accolades is the very one that causes her to stumble in the social world, and I noticed it yesterday. There she stood, getting an impressive award, and after all was said and done and we came up to her to congratulate, a group of her friends stood by with thinly veiled contempt for her. Or maybe it was AT her. It was hard to witness proof that originals aren't really encouraged completely, when there are so many types of necessary conformity at this age. It's a hard concept to grasp at any point in life, hard to be different when sameness is affluent and easier.
It's not the kids' fault, either. Alot of her peers/older kids she's exposed to on the bus, haven't had the privilege of a parent/care giver around to cultivate that in them, good bad or indifferent. No one's fault, but no ones' immediate duty either, when providing food and clothing and a roof over their heads trumps all other finer points. No judgement, as we all do what we have to do (and these are tyring times that keep getting trying-er), but there's still collateral damage to deal with, everyday for everyone involved. Our family deals with the converse, and neither is a pic-nic, I know that. Parenting is just so impossible sometimes, we all deserve medals of honor just for any positive result or semblance of balance we can achieve. I mean that.
On this hyper speed maturity crash course, all of them are trying their best to assert/be themselves, while blending in effectively. Society is a sticky wicket, it really is. Stand out and strive for success they're told, but get nailed for doing so by those that you most want to be stoked for you, your friends/peers. In my experiences growing up, I was confronted with these issues much farther down the pike (like, Jr. high farther), and I'm flat-out pissed that Logan has to go through this while she's just getting the hang of this school thing. But such is their quickened journey. She/they are just as screwed as we are as parents-damned if they do, damned if they don't, and damned if they can fix it consistently, half the time for one reason or another. That's important to remember, as we watch them mutate from what we know to what they choose to be. Even if we don't relate to it as much as we once did, we're growing and learning as they are.
This school year is almost over, and I'm as relieved as Logan is. Perhaps a smidgen more. Hopefully this next go-round will be more grounded, more even, more fun for her. I know my little one can do whatever she wants in her life, school or otherwise, like everyone can, and it's pointless to waste your gifts just to blend in. That much she's learned. I've passed on the best tools I myself employ, and tried my hardest to inspire kindness to herself and others, even when it's the hardest road to take. That's all we can do, really. If only I could grab her hand and transport her to the future for a few moments, where she'll see that all her attributes that caused her grief growing up, allow her to succeed in her adult life...that would be helpful quantum leap. Until such is possible, the jumps we sustain will be to keep standing. And that's good enough, when we're still learning the ropes.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Mustard Seeds
The little things in life end up being what the big picture looks like, even as they're simultaneously shuffled under the rug to suit any given situation. We've learned as consumers to attack the fine print with an almost OCD precision for fear of being duped/fleeced or cheated. But when it's time to provide that precision to others in the workplace, it often mutates into a defensive justification of why we can't be bothered, why it doesn't matter or isn't worth it. We're adrift in this shit ton of minutia, whether in positive or negative light. God is in the details, they say.
This past weekend while watching the Super Bowl Half-time Show, I realized Madonna is a perfect example of the detail double standard. I could write an entire entry (or two) about why she irks me but I won't, suffice to say that she is a Monet in my eyes. From far away, she's a pop culture mainstay that makes that money, flaunts that body and shocks that audience with no shame in her game for quite a few decades now. Props on that. Any article read, interview witnessed or publicity stunt endured however, and she comes across not as the "artist" she claims, but rather a competitive fame whore with no real gratitude to her fans, no real self-aware dignity of what she has already accomplished. There's no need to be chasing down juvenille adoration so aggressively, still, when we know it's just to remain in the limelight. If I didn't know the latter, I could accept the former. But alas...she might as well have been a crew member jostling a mop in drag, she was so out of place on that extravagant stage. Her Madge-esty was not so majestic, so I'm pretty sure that backfired to some extent. Her chosen details did her wrong.
Topical examples aside, if you're inspired to do something from the heart and with good intentions-uplift your fellow man, spread love not hate, that kind of thing-delightful details are part of the package. Taking pride in every last stitch is becoming a lost art form, but it doesn't have to. We could take a cue from the former generations on this one, as much as it pains us to admit that tid-bit. A job well done doesn't have to be shoved upon us from the outside in. Looking around and appreciating the small stuff that our job affords us-money to do it, contrast to enjoy it-can be all we need to step it up a notch and further a cycle of positive actions, not negative defenses. Our details can do us right.
The difference between like and love, first or second, yay or nay in relation to important things, boils down to the tiniest fragment and it's all up to your attention to maintain the good. If the little things noticed don't agree with the grand scheme you're working toward, they can become what's holding you back instead of helping push you forward.
Holding the door for someone, picking up litter as you happen by it, or smiling at someone that looks like they need it, are the only ways I how to keep the inspired details churned out, and coming back in. All for the sake of dwelling in a happy place and helping others join in. So make the most of those mole hills, the mountains await.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Deciduous
I'm on the two month cusp of my third decade here on earth. On paper and in practicality, it's just another year, but because it's the end of an era, and the start of "true adulthood" as they say, I can't help but muse on my station. Contrary to most, I say assuredly as ever before: bring it on. I've always had an inkling that this specific time frame will yield amazing, positive fruition for this old soul. No more uncertainty and fluctuation that the teens and twenties challenged with, no more stress about superficial issues that once preoccupied and distracted me. Nothing but proof of progress, greater confidence and manifestation of all the hard work and perseverance that kept me going through all those years of wonder and upset (the only thing, at times), one way or another.
Why now as opposed to any point in the past, though? As I've been doggedly rushing towards this milestone, some of the miraculous journey was lost in the shuffle, I see that now. Is the very concept of "age" a help or a hinder, then? If we were never told of our age or that time passes in incremental notches towards a mysterious end point, would we have the same life experience, or would we ourselves even "age" the same? I don't think we would, but we as humans might need to play the game.
The first birthday is a big one, the start of hopefully many to come. Then there's the acquiring of walking, talking, reading and writing skills. Losing of baby teeth. The loss of innocense and blissful ignorance to harsh and necessary realities. All signs that we are growing up on schedule, as that's the goal. The sixteenth birthday is the next big one, then the eighteenth, then the twenty-first. Every one after that is a running joke about how close you are to being over the hill or on the other side of the hill, or one foot in the grave, basically. It's a blur, a blast and a torture in so many ways. All the while, we are chided to "act our age" or "grow up" if we aren't exhibiting ideal adjustment to all this change, all this rapid development. You wouldn't drag an infant along the ground, angry that they weren't striding along with you, but at a year, time to buck up and make it happen. Self/society imposed deadlines and all. We can't wait to be adults frequently as children, time ebbing along, but as adults we often rebel against the the shackles of responsibility when we get there at long last. We are never happy with what we have in the precious present, but so sad when we notice it has disappeared, further down the pike.
We live to move forward, pursuing a new plateau, languishing if we fail to. We don't actually know we're getting older, other than we tell ourselves we are, and compare our aging with others that are or have along side us. Without our calendar year strumming on, we have no evidence that indicates our maturation to date. We have memories, scars of every type and anecdotes, but nothing tangible.
It's a no wonder we all feel so cut-throat compelled to achieve and retrieve what we want in life. Youth and material obsession, the ever accelerating yearly traditions (Christmas is now Halloween, Thanksgiving and ACTUAL Christmas, so we are all but done with the year around October or sooner), and the subtle, subliminal reminders that we're getting older and are going to die someday...it's all tremendously pressuring.
Quantum physicists theorize that time is actually circular, not linear. That all historical and future events are happening simultaneously with our notion of here and now. As mind blowing as that thought is, I would be delighted to know it's so. To have the finish line stretched into infinity, or have it revealed as the starting line instead. To enjoy "time" in feeling and quality for it's own sake, as it's all happening in it's own way and scope, and will be regardless of your perception of it/role in it. If we had that certainty, we could stop for a moment, we could enjoy that moment. We might not ever attain what we want when we want it, but we might remember more of the details when it mattered most.
Like majestic, oxygenating trees, we garner annual rings of growth, whether we're conscious of it or not. From the ground up, it takes earned wisdom to know our value truly, to fully utilize the stature and strength we inherently posses but often forget we have to our detriment. In that respect, age is an important awareness. The most important. Unlike trees though, our rings are phantom (crows feet, laugh lines and gray hairs might count I 'spose), unless we use them to our full advantage and remember to revel in the space between each new one. Relax into the cycle and trust it will take you where you need to be, not the other way around. To absorb the landscape around you not constantly vie for richer soil, be you redwood or sapling or in between. I've finally learned that one, so on to the next branch. At a leisurely, seasonal pace, that is.
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